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There's something extraordinarily relaxing about watching the Winter Olympics in bed. Maybe it's the sight of everybody exerting so much energy, while the most strenuous thing you do is switch the coffee percolator on, but I'd been spent the first week of my vacation devouring almost every sport they threw at me, and I'd never felt so good in my life. The phone was unplugged, my cell was locked in my desk, and I'd not even checked my e-mail in days.

There's not much you can do about the doorbell, though, particularly when whoever is ringing it seems to have got their finger wedged into the mechanism. I threw on my robe and ran down the hall. "It's okay, I'm coming."

"About time." I recognized my friend Sara's voice in between the shrill blasts, and threw the door open. "Hi." I hoped I sounded as disgruntled as I felt. The men's Alpine Skiing final was about to begin; this was scarcely the time for a social call. Plus, it was one of the few events that I actually understood.

"I've been trying to call you all week - are you okay?"

I caught my reflection in the mirror in the hallway. I hadn't so much as brushed my hair in days, and I'd probably only showered once as well. I looked an absolute wreck. I decided to lie. "A bit of a migraine, I think. I've been lying low...." I let my voice trail off in what I hoped was a convincing impersonation of the victim of a crippling ailment. Well, if you're going to play the sickness card, you may as well grab some sympathy while you're at it.

"Okay. Well, I just wanted to let you know my brother's coming home at the weekend, and we're throwing a party to celebrate his silver."

I almost asked "silver what"... and then I remembered. I'd never met him, but Sara's brother Alistair was on the Men's Luge team. I also remembered that Luge was one of the few events that I'd not seen a second of. Never trust a sport that sounds like a nasal discharge. "He won?"

"Well, silver. But he wasn't even expecting to make the finals, so this is REALLY big!"

Another lie. "I've not really watched any of the Games. But yes, if I'm feeling better"... meaning, if the party doesn't clash with anything else I want to watch... "I'll be there. Thanks."

Once Sara had gone, I went on-line and checked two things. The first was the Olympic schedule for Saturday night... Curling and Ice Hockey; yeah, I could give that a miss. The second was Team America's homepage, and one glance at Alistair convinced me that, contrarily, I wouldn't want to miss meeting him. Taller than Sara, but just as blonde, a really cute smile and eyes that danced, even in a digital photograph. Plus, I'd never met an Olympic medal winner before.

Saturday afternoon I called Sara to let her know I was feeling better... yes, a lot better, thanks... and would see her that evening. And that, by way of a very long and drawn-out introduction, is how I ended up back at my apartment a little before midnight, with an Olympian's uncut dick in my hand, and my mouth clamped hard around one button-sized nipple....

It's called the Winter Olympics, but Alistair had obviously caught more sunshine than the tourist brochures let on about. He was tanned to perfection, and there weren't any white patches, either. Plus, he had muscles where I'd never encountered them before, and he knew exactly how to flex them.

I swirled my tongue around that nut-brown nipple and felt his cock twitch in response, thick as a branch, with a pulse you could wind your wristwatch with. I couldn't wait to feel that same sensation inside my pussy; but, as a light moan escaped his lips, I wondered how just long it would be before he even touched me there, let alone allowed me to fuck him. In the hour or so since we got back here, our lips locked together all the way from the car, through the door, and into the living room, he'd forced me to make every move; encouraging everything I did with a body that squirmed and arched to the slightest touch, but

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